Curiosity
by Debating-to-Debate
Summary: Two girls attract the attention of North, who sends Jack down to keep an eye on them. The girls catch the eyes of Pitch and another, far eviler character. Alliances between old enemies will be made, not just to save these strange girls, but to protect the entire population of the world, both children and adults. But in the end... who survives? Pitch/OC1 Jack/OC2
1. In Which North Reads A Strange Letter

_The North Pole: Three years since the battle of Burgess_

North was always busy, but it was especially bad in December, right up until the day after Christmas when everything started all over again. The deadlines became urgent; children turned bratty, then sweet, then bratty again and were switched from 'Nice' to 'Naughty' lists.

And then there were the letters.

North had to read all of them to know what children wanted, and that took hours upon hours of sitting in chairs reading. The yetis helped, of course, but this was always the part that North enjoyed, seeing the wishes of children, and he usually did about half of it himself.

But a week before Christmas with hundreds of letters still to be read and thousands of toys still to be made, North found himself stuck in his chair with a frown on his face as he looked at a letter. The return address was handwritten, but very nicely so, with two names on the front in different handwritings. This was not the handwriting of children; it was the mature-looking scroll of young adults, who had for some reason decided to write to Santa again.

He opened the letter and began to read, his frown growing deeper and deeper with each word he read. Some elves came in with a tray of cookies and were abruptly concerned that the new lines on his face were permanent, they were so deeply engraved onto his face.

North's mind was racing. Teenagers didn't write letters to him. They might help their siblings write one, or they might write one to humor someone else and never send it, but North hadn't gotten a letter from a teen _ever_. He would've brushed it off as a sibling humoring the younger one if it weren't for the fact that the names on the front of the letter had different last names and –after having a yeti check the lists- both were teens.

It was bothering him a great deal, far more than it should have. He quickly read through the letter again.

***!***

_Mr. Claus,_

_We haven't written to you in a while __**-**_**sorry about that-** _but we thought maybe we should this year. A sort of goodbye to childhood, if you will. _

**The one thing we both would appreciate is a white Christmas, if that's within your control. If it isn't, it's okay. We just don't get much Christmas snow up here - well, down here, actually. Now onto the part where we feel greedy about asking you for things. **

_I'll keep this short: blank sketch books, blank music sheets, general art supplies, and an archery set. _**I'll keep mine short too: audio books, an advanced alchemy set, and some new blades.**

**Let's see if this works.**_ Let's hope it does._

_Thank you,_

_Saraswati Anderson _**and Hecate Douglas**

***!***

North sighed, and shook his head. He wasn't sure why, but it just kept bothering him. But why did it bother him? Maybe this really was their way of saying goodbye to childhood. For all he knew, some other spirits were playing pranks on him, though that was doubtful.

He was so lost in thought that he missed the entrance of a certain winter spirit.

"Hey North," Jack's voice finally reached him, "You okay?"

"I'm not sure," North said quietly, his accent heavy, "but this letter bothers me."

"What letter?" Jack asked and came over to the desk where North sat, "Some kid's Christmas letter?"

"Not kid, Jack," North corrected, "a teen."

"A teenager?" Jack's eyes widened, "How often do you get letters from them?"

"I never have," he replied, "Two of them wrote one letter. They probably live close to each other."

"Why tell me?" Jack asked curiously.

"They asked for Christmas snow," North chuckled, "Snow, art things, books, and weapons."

Jack blinked. "_Weapons_?" he choked out with a snort, "They're asking you for _weapons_?"

"And archery set and blades," North nodded, "Quite odd."

"I'll head their way," Jack agreed, "Where is their way?"

"Washington," North replied.

"D.C.?" Jack sounded surprised.

"State," North corrected, "Though Sara lived in Virginia for a time, if I remember correctly. She stopped writing earlier than most."

Jack watched as North became visibly upset over that for a moment before his expression turned back to normal, "So Christmas snow? They think you control the weather too?"

North shrugged, "Not sure. But they were very polite about it." He handed Jack the letter with a brief chuckle, which the spirit quickly read through.

"Huh," Jack muttered, "That is weird. They'll get snow on Christmas eve, right at midnight."

North smiled finally, "Thank you Jack. Don't forget."

"I won't," Jack grinned, "See ya North."

Before North could give him a proper send off, Jack was gone, leaving only an icy wind behind.

***!***

The roof was slick with frost, but the two girls who were scrambling over the rooftops had plenty of experience with it and hadn't fallen in the past decade they'd been doing it. It wasn't like they had far to go, with only one empty house separating them.

The houses were close enough to jump from one to another, and both girls did exactly that. One of them had shoulder length, truly ginger hair that earned most people the name 'Carrot Top' with dark green eyes and a splattering of freckles. She was tall and thin, her body well developed from a kind and giving puberty. The other girl was even taller, just under 6'0, and had a thin body that could only be described as willowy. If she was shorter, she could've been described as girlish due to her comparatively smaller chest. Her hair was ash brown and fell to the middle of her back, her eyes were dark blue, and her body was littered with a series of long thin scars from a car accident when she was little.

"Hey Saraswati," the ginger greeted the brunette. "Fancy meeting you up here!" she mocked a British accent and laughed quietly.

"How odd indeed, my dearest Hecate," Sara said in an almost convincing accent, "What a strange occurrence! 'Tis needs to be investigated. What are two strange girls doing on the roof of an empty house in the middle of the night?"

"I haven't the faintest idea!" Hecate laughed before her eyes lit up curiously, "Have you written anymore?"

"Yup," Sara nodded, "'The Strange Investigations of Sara and Kate' is well along into Chapter 3."

"It's going to look great on your admissions," Kate sighed longingly, "Wish I could write something like that."

"I write fiction, you write fact," Sara shrugged, "It's an even balance. You're writing about the natures of poisonous foreign plants and you're doing a damn good job. You've never even left the country and you probably know all of the different ways to kill someone with a root of a rare planet in Kenya. It's sort of scary, actually."

Kate laughed and covered her mouth to stifle her giggles. "But you know how to write good stories and play music and draw – and god knows how fast you read. You're this giant walking encyclopedia of almost everything."

Sara shrugged, not denying the statement, and checked her watch. "Eleven thirty," she sighed, "I'm heading in at twelve."

"Aw!" Kate groaned, "Why?"

"Christmas Eve, Kate," Sara rolled her eyes.

"So?"

"I have a sister, unlike you, and I have to make sure she's fed and on her way Maria's house by ten in the morning."

Maria was the little girl around eight who played with Sara's sister, Farrah, every day they had off from ten till two. The girls were the best of friends, due to the three-day age gap and their mirrored personalities.

"Fine," Kate sighed, "We'll just have to make the most of our time."

The two girls then began a conversation at a pace that would render eavesdropping pointless if anyone was listening because words were spoken so quickly, talking about the holidays and soon to be coming school, over break assignments and college applications.

"I wonder if we'll get our white Christmas," Kate pondered, looking up at the midnight sky which was noticeably thick with clouds. She shivered suddenly as a freezing blast of wind blew past them, and blinked rapidly as snowflakes landed on her nose.

Sara laughed as flakes touched her nose as well. The girls stood up, clutching each other for support as the eyed the thick flurries of snow raining down.

Sara checked her watch. "It's midnight," she breathed with wonder, "On the dot midnight, on Christmas Eve, and it's snowing… Coincidence?"

"I think not," Kate grinned, "We got a FREAKING CHRISTMAS MIRACLE! WOO-HOO!"

Her cheers were cut off by Sara's hand. "Not so loud!" she laughed quietly, "Don't wake up the whole neighborhood!"

"We got a Christmas miracle!" Kate whispered excitedly when Sara moved her hand.

"I know!" the two girls collapsed into badly muffled laughter and started dancing around on the roof of the empty house in the falling snow.

Sara shivered suddenly; her skin was crawling with the too-familiar feeling of being watched.

"I'm going to head inside," she whispered, "If the snow's still here in the morning, I'll bring the kids over and we can all have a snow day."

"Kay," Kate nodded, "Night Sara."

"Night Kate." And with that, Sara silently slipped across the roof and landed the slightest thud on her own before slipping down the side of the house and into her room via the window.

***!***

**Not too bad, I hope. I've never written fanfiction (or anything non-school related) before but I saw ROTG and I had to make something :)**

**And please, leave a review for whose POV you want in the next chapter. Who you pick decides whether you get Jack or Pitch in the next chapter!**

**(I don't own Rise of the Guardians: Let this stand for the rest of the story)**

_**Debating-to-Debate**_


	2. In Which Pitch Is Amused By A Girl

**Okay, so it drags a bit, and it's definitely way too descriptive, but this stuff is actually kind of important. Maybe not to the story line, but to understanding Sara. (It's pronounced like Sarah just spelled Sara) **

**And some people were confused as to what I meant when I said Jack or Pitch. I meant as to who will star in the next chapter, not who's voicing it :) This story will probably alternate between Sara and Hecate's voices only, unless I magically produce the ability to write from a guy's perspective (I SUCK AT THAT FOR SOME REASON I HAVE NO IDEA WHY AND I'M TOO AFRIAD TO TRY AFTER MY LAST ATTEMPT. IT WAS HORRIFIC)**

**DISCLAIMER: ROTG is definitely not mine**

**Sara POV**

I smiled slightly when I felt my feet hit the ground in my room and blindly threw my frozen hand out for the light switch on the wall. I found it, and quickly flipped it up, revealing the dark hardwood floors and the artistic walls of my room. The wall to my right, which the door was on, was splattered with several different paintings at once, all of which were my works in progress, while the others were covered by bulletin boards pinned with an assortment of sketches and doodles. The wall across from me had some simple white curtains covering what most presumed was my closet, but actually hid my bed and a wall of bookshelves. The wall to my left had a keyboard pressed into the corner close to me, with a violin case and a guitar next to it. On the right of the guitar, pressed between the corner of that wall and my closet-bed, was a desk, scattered with blank sheets of music paper, pencils, pastels, and normal blank paper. It had a couple of drawers, which hid my laptop and the rest of my art supplies.

There was also a simple dresser pressed against my project wall. I walked over to it and rummaged through it for a pair of sweatpants, quickly changing my clothes before grabbing a piece of blank paper and a pencil before turning on the small lamp I had over my bed and flicking off the main switch.

I crawled into bed and sat quietly for a moment, thinking about what to draw. This was my ritual; I _had_ to draw or write something before I went to sleep at night, or my brain would be to overactive to think about sleeping. I had to let out a little bit of the creativity or I'd go insane. My parents thought that maybe I had some sort of mental thing that made me too active, but it didn't bother them enough to have me checked out and evaluated by professionals, which I was thankful for since I hated doctors because my brain associated them with needles. I _loathed_ needles. It was something left over from childhood, like my fear of spiders.

I shook my head to clear my thoughts and focused on the blank page in front of me, slowly tapping my pencil against the paper as I thought of what to draw. My eyes drifted to the dark shadows gathered in the corner and my mind rearranged them into the shape of a massive, shadowy stallion. A small smile curled at the corner of my lips as I lightly pressed the pencil to the paper and started to sketch, easily outlining the figure I'd seen in my mind's eye.

That was usually how the process went; I'd stare at something long enough that my eyes would unfocused and turn it into something else. The results were always fantastic and fantastical. I had a drawing of a miniature human/hummingbird tapped to my walls inspired by a dream I'd had when I was ten on the night I lost a molar, and a six foot human/kangaroo/rabbit with tribal markings when I was fourteen from seeing a rabbit at an Easter hunt. I had a pretty strange picture of Santa around here too, with tattoos and dual blades, along with a picture of a short man made of golden sand, both of which I'd seen in dreams. Recently though, I'd drawn a boy with white hair and a shepherd's crook flying in a sweatshirt and bare feet. I'm not even going to wonder where _that_ one came from.

These thoughts flew across my mind as the stallion took shape on the page. It was almost a challenge; I couldn't give the creature a define shape, since every line or angle melted off into wispy shadows. The eyes were the only semi-solid part of it, a burning gold, similar to the sand I'd drawn for my gold man, but almost angrier somehow, and definitely darker.

I stopped when my eyes started to cross. With a yawn, I flipped the light off and tossed the sketchbook down, the pencil dropping soon after. I shifted around till I was comfortable, huddled into a ball facing the wall, and yawn once more before drifting off into oblivion.

***!***

The Nightmare that Sara had seen and drawn was still standing in the shadows, watching the brunette. He was supposed to turn her dreams sour that night, as she was long overdue for bad dreams, but she had looked directly at him with a smile and he wondered for a moment what she had drawn when she looked away.

Silently, the creature trotted over to her bedside, deciding to check the drawing before getting on with his schedule. _It wasn't likely that she saw me_, the stallion mused, _No one has seen me since the Dark Ages when everyone believed in the Bogeyman._

The Nightmare stopped dead as it looked at the page, which held an identical image of him, though the shadowy swirls were a bit exaggerated.

She'd seen him.

With a wild rear, the Nightmare neighed in surprise; it still shifted uneasily when it came back down to the ground. It quickly ripped the sketchbook from the floor and ran off into the shadows, emerging into the Nightmare King's lair just as a small herd of Nightmares ran back into the shadows.

"Oh, what now?" Pitch growled, obviously annoyed, "I've been bothered with enough 'emergences' today."

The stallion whined and thrusted its head forward, showing the book which was still open to the picture of itself. Pitch looked at him for a moment before rolling his eyes and snatching the sketchbook from the steed. His eyes widened slightly as the stallion explained and he studied the sketch.

"She looked at you?" Pitch restated, "Then she _drew_ you?" the Nightmare nodded in confirmation, cowering slightly in Pitch's intimidating presence, "Interesting."

The Nightmare was relieved he hadn't further annoyed the King. The relief was short lived as Pitch summoned his personal Nightmare, a slightly smaller mare, but every bit as intimidating as her rider. The stallion nearly started shaking.

"Take me to her," Pitch ordered, "Let's reaffirm her belief in the Boogeyman." There was a wicked, malicious glint in his golden eyes and the stallion immediately bent to the King's will, guiding them through the shadows to the girl's home.

It couldn't have been more than twenty minutes, but a small light was shining in her room.

"I thought she was asleep," Pitch's voice was low and threatening.

_She was! She was dead asleep!_ The stallion defended. Pitch glared at the beast and his steed seemed to be feeling smug about the other Nightmare's misfortune. The Nightmares and Pitch flew up towards her window and studied the scene.

The girl looked slightly panicked as she ran around her room, looking under her bed (which Pitch noted with amusement was hidden away in the closet) under her desk, behind her dresser… anywhere she thought it might be.

She jerked up suddenly and spun towards the window where she saw them. They melted into the shadows and reappeared on in her room behind her as she tossed open the window and stuck her head out comically, looking around, before turning around and seeing the dark horses and their master.

Pitch expected her to scream or at least flinch, since his presence usually inspired fear.

But that was only usually. And even then he was surprised at her reaction.

"You!" she half-shouted, obviously angry as she strode over to them, "You took my sketchbook, you rotten bastard!"

Pitch blinked in surprise; that was _not_ what he was expecting.

"Give it here," she held out her hand with a fire in her eyes, "Now, or I'll slap you so hard you won't want to feel your face for a week."

"You would dare slap me?" Pitch sounded angry, but inside he was enjoying this. He rarely met and talked to humans with such fire.

She raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms, rolling her eyes, "Somebody's got ego issues. You need to get off your high horse, buddy. Literally."

"Do you know who you're speaking with, child?" he growled. She was starting to get on his nerves a little, but it was still hilarious.

"The King of Macedonia," she said sarcastically, "Honestly, I couldn't give a flying fuck as to who your sorry ass is; you took my _sketchbook_." Her voice was scathing and her eyes, which Pitch noted were an impossibly true blue, were lit with hellfire.

"Is it important?" he sounded amused and began flipping through it.

"To me? Very. Now hand it over," her expression was fearsome.

"I don't think I will," Pitch teased, getting off his horse. He was deeply enjoying playing with her, both Nightmares could see, and he was going to draw this out. She might not be sane by the time he was done with her.

The girl glared and Pitch smirked.

_That's it,_ she thought, _I'm done_.

A loud crack sounded as the girl's hand connected with Pitch's cheek and he stumbled back in shock. The girl swiftly stepped forward and grabbed the sketchbook before hitting Pitch on the other side of his face, and then again over the back of his head with surprising force. Then she turned and thwacked the stallion on his rump, making him neigh with anger like '_what was that for?!_'

"That's for guiding this bastard here and for creeping on me!" she glared. He shrugged his huge shoulders and she shook her head; all animals were the same, made of shadows or not.

She sat down on her bed, almost forgetting about the man who was standing by the mare in shock with a red handprint on his cheek, and flipped through her book to make sure everything had survived its trip through the shadows.

When she finished, she looked up, perfectly calm, and then her eyes widened as she looked at him.

"Oh my god, I am so sorry," the words were coming out of her mouth in a fast stream as she jumped up off the bed to inspect Pitch's, "I didn't hurt you too badly did I? Sorry I'm just really protective of my art stuff and you're just this guy with shadow horses who shows up with it and -" She stopped, her eyes widening even further.

"Who are you?" she asked slowly, stepping backwards slowly away from Pitch and his horses.

"You already know," Pitch glared, honestly angry now. This girl had the audacity to slap him! "You wouldn't be able to see me if you didn't."

She visibly relaxed, which put a pause on Pitch's anger. "Oh good, then you're just the Boogeyman."

"_Just_ the Boogeyman?" he growled, "I am the essence of fear, child. There is no _just_ about it."

"I know that," she still looked relieved, "But there are things that scare me more than you."

This received an involuntary snort from Pitch. "Obviously. Most would have been too terrified of my presence to even think of yelling at me, much less _slap _me."

She winced, "Sorry about that. People don't take my stuff and walk away unharmed."

"I can see that," Pitch stated dryly, "What is your name, girl?"

"Saraswati Anderson," the foreign word sound strange mixed with the classic English last name when it rolled off her tongue and she curtsied, "Most people call me Sara. No 'H.'"

"Pitch Black, The Nightmare King," he bowed in return to her curtsey.

"Very nice to meet you, my man," her accent was suddenly British, "I say, these are some fine steeds."

Pitch blinked, dumbfounded. He was starting to wonder if she was another spirit playing a game on him, since she wasn't reacting like any human he'd ever seen.

"… What?" he asked.

She looked mildly disappointed and sighed. "Good to meet you," Sara translated, "Nice horses."

The Nightmares whined in opposition. "They're Nightmares," Pitch corrected.

"This one is yours then?" she gestured to the mare.

"How can you tell?" he asked, honestly intrigued. He was focusing less and less on the idea of scaring her and was becoming more interested in her strange reactions.

"She's got reins and a bridle," Sara observed, "And he doesn't, so you ride her."

"And you know their genders, how?" Pitch questioned.

"Sure are curious, Mr. Nightmare," she chuckled and Pitch frowned, "Well, she's smaller, first of all. That's usually one of the basic rules for mammals: females are usually smaller than males. And he," she patted the neck of the stallion, "seems to suffer from blind obedience to you, probably because you intimidate him and you're his leader. Mostly intimidation though. She probably serves you out of choice than actual dedication, though there might be some form of affection there. These don't really strike me as 'caring' creatures."

Both Nightmares looked away as Pitch glared at the mare. Sara chuckled.

"What?" he snapped.

She kept giggling, "Nothing, nothing, you just seem personally offended that she might not like you. I'm just stating what I've observed. I might not even be right, you know. Anyway, what are their names?"

"Names?"

"Yeah, what do you call them?"

"…"

"They don't have names, do they?" she sighed.

"They're unnecessary," Pitch defended at her accusatory look.

"Well, if you have a preferred Nightmare, you should at least name her. She could easily switch with another mare of her size and height and you wouldn't even notice!"

Pitch was in shock. He'd been ruling his Nightmares for centuries and this girl pointed out flaws in his system within ten minutes of setting eyes upon him.

Sara rolled her eyes, "Well, I'll let you name her," she turned to the stallion, "And your name is going to be Adrian."

Pitch watch as the Nightmare almost seemed to hold itself differently, though it tried to look indifferent.

"Adrian?" Pitch wondered, "What kind of a name-"

"It means 'dark one,'" Sara told him as she patted the Nightmare's neck, "I frequent name sites for stories, and I happen to be looking for a dark name that I like. I haven't found one, but Adrian seems to fit him, in my opinion."

The Nightmare seemed to agree, and the mare looked slightly downtrodden, before growling and stamping her feet a bit in Pitch's direction.

Pitch growled back in annoyance and Sara openly laughed, the alto sound pleasant and cheerful. "I think your mare wants a name," she observed, a grin tugging at her lips.

"Only after you encouraged it," Pitch sighed. He started to wonder what to call her before stopping. _I came here to frighten this insolent girl out of her wits, not make friends… _He glanced at her. She was innocent but not naïve, which was a hard combination, with a burning temper and seemingly didn't care that the Nightmare King had appeared in her room with Nightmares intent on terrifying her. She slapped him, took her book, apologized, and then started acting kind.

She was, without a doubt, the strangest human he had ever met. And he had the urge to leave her intact.

With another, heavier, sigh, Pitch looked back to his personal favorite. He studied her for a moment before saying, "Eris."

"Goddess of discord," Sara noted, "Good choice. Seems to suit her too."

The mare, now Eris, stamped her feet in approval.

Only a moment later, a loud three note screech went off and Sara's head snapped up.

"The fuck?" she whispered, "Kate, what the hell are you doing?"

Pitch watched in confusion as she stumbled around her room –it was occurring to him that Sara was similar to a baby giraffe in her movements- and grabbed a recorder before unleashing a three note screech in response. Pitch winced at the high decibels of the awful instrument.

"Sorry," Sara apologized with a grin, "We picked the most annoying instrument for signals because, well, you can't _not_ hear it."

Another three note whistle, all of them different than the ones before. Sara paled dramatically and tossed the recorder aside, before running to shove her coat on over her head.

"What are you _doing_?" Pitch asked in confusion. The Nightmares were shifting with unease at the sudden flurry this one girl could stir up.

"Kate seems to need a bit of help, so I'm off to her house. I might not be back for a while, so… uh, you can stay or go, I guess," she shrugged, distracted by her friend as she pulled her Converse on.

"We shall leave," Pitch decided.

"See ya around then, Pitch," she nodded to him, before tossing open the window and easily hefting herself up while closing the window with her feet.

They travelled into the shadows, appearing outside just in time to see Sara jump from the roof of her neighbor's house to the next with ease, before rapping on the window. It opened and she slid inside, visible concern etched onto her face even from their distance.

Pitch gave a little breath of laughter; _how cute of her to be concerned for her friends._ He quickly instructed Adrian to continue his duties, and led Eris back into the shadows to his lair, where a small herd of Nightmares was waiting impatiently.

It wasn't until later –much later- that his thoughts strayed to Sara, and he wondered what had caused the girl to seem so troubled.

**Err, yeah, that sucked. But hey, 3K words, I put effort into it. Next chapter will be better, I hope. I'm still sort of getting the swing of writing my own characters. I have an incredibly clear idea of what I want them to be like, I'm just not 100 percent sure how to portray it.**

**So, obviously, we got Pitch this chapter (it was close: 3 for Pitch 2 for Jack) but we get Jack in the next one from Hecate's POV :)**

**AND A HUGE THANKS TO ALL OF YOU WHO READ/REVIEWED/FAVORITED/FOLLOWED! IT MEANS THE WORLD TO ME!**

_**Debating-to-Debate**_


	3. In Which Jack Walks And The Story Starts

**So, here we go again with another chapter! The beginning is a bit faster paced in his one, though still descriptive. You get the REALLY overly detailed stuff farther in.**

**A HUGE thank you to everyone who reviewed/favorite/followed/read the last chapter :)**

**Disclaimer: ROTG is not mine. Sara and Hecate are MINE though, as is the plot!**

Chapter 3

**Hecate**

You know what sucks about insomnia? You end up with all this extra time and fucking boatload of _nothing_ to do. Which is probably why I stayed on the roof after Sara went inside, just walking around and practicing my balance. It was more of a game really, to see how long it would take before I slipped on the increasingly frosty surface.

_Maybe not a good idea… Falling to my death wouldn't exactly classify as "fun." Then again, I'd get to find out what the afterlife is like… No, no, stop. That is a VERY bad thing to be curious about, Kate, end the train of thought. Better yet, blow it off the tracks. Okay, okay, uh, physics! Physics will do nicely. No, no they won't, forget physics, how about planets? Biology, perhaps? Maybe alchemy-_

I froze as a very big cluster of snowflakes fell perfectly onto my nose and I stopped breathing, going cross-eyed to look at the flakes before the melted. When they did, a small little bubble of laughter spilled from my mouth.

"Gorgeous," I breathed. I looked up at the sky in wonder before blinking in shock.

There was a boy walking barefoot on power lines.

_What the actual fuck?!_

"What're you doing?!" I half-shouted before I even realized what was coming out of my mouth.

The boy turned to look at me, white hair swooshing slightly in the breeze and his dark icy blue eyes were full of mischief, though that mischief was quickly turning into disbelief.

"You can see me?" he asked excitedly, looking down from some fifteen feet above my spot on the roof.

"Of course I can!" I shook my head in bewilderment, "Get down, preferably _before_ you kill yourself!"

He smirked. "Alright. I'll come down."

And then he jumped.

I let out a strangled screech, but calmed down when he landed softly on his feet and let the staff he was holding rest casually over his shoulder. Now that I could see him without craning my neck, I could see him more clearly. His hair was white like snow and about as long as most boys at school wore it, with a devilishly handsome face that would have every teacher peg him as trouble. He wore a dark blue hoodie that looked like it was covered in… frost? -and an old, well loved, pair of brown pants. He also –as I noticed before- wasn't wearing shoes. The boy struck me as strangely familiar for some reason, which didn't make sense since I'd never met him before.

I could see that he was studying me as well, and a small smile crept onto my mouth as I realized what he was seeing. A tall classic redhead -green eyes, freckled skin and all- wearing a pair of well-worn track shoes, jeans, and a short sleeved t-shirt. No coat, which couldn't be as cold as no shoes.

"No coat?" he asked, just as I said, "No shoes?"

His eyes widened and I snickered. "What for?" I wondered, "It might be snowing but I'm not staying out _that_ long. At least I'm not climbing on power lines without shoes. I still don't understand how you aren't a smoldering pile of ash."

"Yeah, well," he shrugged, "Who needs shoes? And power lines aren't a big deal."

I gaped and he smirked, "Too impressive for you?"

I blinked rapidly, before rolling my eyes with a snort. "Please. More like 'too arrogant.' And who are you, anyway?"

His smirk grew wider. "Jack Frost," he took a couple steps forward, "I assume you've heard of me?"

"Isn't that the guy who runs around nipping noses?" I pondered.

"I do not!" he practically shouted in protest, "I've never bitten anybody!"

"Sure buddy," I laughed and shook my head, "All legends come from somewhere, so _if_ you're Jack Frost, and that's a very skeptical _if_, then you must've bitten somebody."

"Of course I'm Jack Frost," the boy looked proud, "You know I am."

"How would I know that you're Jack Frost when I've never even met you? I mean you look pretty freaking familiar but I've never even _seen_- Oh."

The boy frowned, "What?"

"Sara," I breathed, "All those drawings, of _course_ she drew you! Myths and legends, that's what she does, every day, all year long. And she always spins them to match her freaking crazy daydreams. And she drew _you_! The Snow Boy and the Shadow Man. Badass Santa, a six foot rabbit, and a hummingbird lady, she draws all these myths and now one of her drawings is standing right in front of me! Oh god, I knew she was insane, but I didn't think insanity was fucking _contagious_!"

This was insane, absolutely fucking insane. My brain was rejecting reality in all forms right now since _this was not possible!_ _But it's happening right in front of me and one of Sara's drawings- drawings based on beings that every kid over the age of twelve KNOWS is fiction- is standing in front of me. She's only been drawing Frost for a couple of days so this must be one of the first times she's seen him and if SHE can see him then he's actually here, and if he's actually here then I'm not in insane but I have to be insane since this isn't possible- I'm arguing in circles with myself._

"Wait, wait, wait," Jack cut into my thoughts. "Your friend drew me, Santa, the Easter Bunny, and the Tooth Fairy?"

"Well, she bases them on the general idea, yeah," I shrugged, eyes still wide as my thoughts raced, "She's only been drawing you for a couple of days… How long have you been in town?"

"Three days, on and off," he responded, "I go from here to a lot of other places."

"Why stick around here?" I asked curiously, deciding that I would process everything later, though my mind was still boggled. _Mental note: freak out LATER!_

He scratched the back of his neck and his eyes seemed a bit embarrassed, "Well, when you guys wrote that letter to North-"

"North?"

"Santa," he clarified and I nodded slowly, realizing that Santa had actually received our letter, "He asked me to come down and spread a little winter snow."

I didn't think my eyes could get any wider. "Holy fucking shit," I breathed, "You're Jack Frost."

"You've got a _foul_ mouth," he smirked, eyes twinkling, "And who are you?"

"Hecate Douglas," I bowed with a grin, using my terribly fake British accent, "Nice to meet you, Mr. Frost."

"You as well, Ms. Douglas," he grinned, playing along in a so-so accent.

"Oh, please, I insist you call me Kate! All of my friends do," I was about ready to burst into laughter. The British accents were _killing_ me.

"Then I insist you call me Jack, my good madam!" Jack announced before we both doubled over in laughter.

"I'm sorry," I wheezed, "British accents are how we break the ice."

"I'm not very good at breaking ice," Jack chuckled, "Making it, sure, but breaking it?"

I let out another snort. "Ice jokes," I shook my head, "You _would_ make ice jokes, wouldn't you?"

Jack just chuckled and a small silence came over us. I observed the falling snow for a moment and recalled the miraculous timing.

"Were you the one who made it snow?" I asked curiously.

"Well, North _did_ send me down here for a reason so-"

"But it started snowing _right_ when I mentioned getting a white Christmas," I said, before a feeling of disbelief swept over me and my eyebrows shot up, "You weren't _listening_ to Sara and I, were you?"

He managed to look both guilty and unashamed at the same time. "It's not like I could understand a word until you mentioned snow. You guys talked so fast that it was pure _gibberish_."

I waved him off, "That's not even what I'm worried about; you watched us freak out over some snow?"

His smirk was the only answer I needed and I felt my face heat up to match my hair. "Well that's embarrassing," I managed, "I think I'll just run back to my house now…"

I started walking carefully backwards much to Jack's bemusement, and he walked forward with me.

"No, no, I'm going inside," I stopped walking though, curious, "If you go inside, can you melt?"

"No! Of course not," he laughed and I blushed again, "The hotter it is, the more uncomfortable it is, but I won't _melt_."

"So you'd be most comfortable in, I don't know, the Arctic Circle?" I guessed. _Damn me and my endless questions._

"Yeah, pretty much," he grinned, "Antarctica is nice too. Bit windy."

"You've been to Antarctica?!" I nearly shouted, "Did you see any polar bears? Or penguins?"

He looked surprised by the intensity of my questions, "Uh, no, sorry."

"Sorry," I grinned, "I've got this thing with questions; you answer one question, fifty more pop up."

"I can tell," he smiled and I blushed. All the warmth in my face was making me acutely aware of how cold my body was.

"I really do need to go inside though;" I said apologetically, "Not all of us are impervious to cold."

"Not impervious," he corrected, "Just colder in general."

I opened my mouth, then bit my tongue. _Don't make him uncomfortable Kate, don't make him uncomfortable…_

Jack laughed at whatever expression was on my face, and I smiled. He adjusted his grip on his staff and tossed a wink at me. "I'll see _you_," he smirked, "and your friend tomorrow."

"Better be prepared for a fight, Frost," I grinned in an attempt to be casual, "We'll be playing tomorrow."

He laughed and took off towards the sky, the breeze easily carrying him like he weighed no more than a feather.

I didn't even try to close my mouth. Eventually, I shook my head and turned to go back inside my house. I jumped back in my window, landing on my house's ugly white carpet and seeing the bright green walls of my room. My loft bed was in the far corner, a dresser underneath of it. There was a mat on the floor about a foot wide along two walls of my room, right underneath the waist high wood board coming out of the wall so my chair could easily slide along.

The board was actually my giant desk, covered in textbooks, papers, pencils, pens, and various experiments. There was a small corner of the desk dedicated to homework, but it was a very, _very_ small corner. There was a Venus flytrap sitting on my other window, next to a Castor bean plant. Both dangerous in their own way; a flytrap eats bugs, the Castor plant covered in poisonous seeds.

I crept around quietly, quickly changing my clothes into a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. With a small grin playing on my face at thought of tomorrow, I climb up into my bed and curl under my blankets, perfectly giddy.

Too giddy, actually. My feet kept tapping to an invisible beat, and I couldn't seem to get comfortable.

"Oh, fuck," I groaned, tossing my arm over my eyes, "I'm never going to fall asleep, am I?"

_Crreeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaakkkkkk kkkkkkk….._

I shot up in my bed, and my eyes landed on the faint, shadowy outline of my door.

I was ninety-nine percent certain that it had opened.

Cautiously, I leaned over the edge of my bed and pulled the string on the light hanging over my room. I was supposed to use the switch like a normal person, but I didn't want to come down until I knew.

I felt my hands start shaking as I saw that my door had opened maybe a foot.

"Fuck," I whispered, terror choking my voice. "Fuckity motherfucking fuck."

"_Hecate…_" the voice was quiet and all too familiar as it whispered my name, "_Hecate…_"

I didn't waste a second and practically threw myself to the other side of my bed and grasped for the recorder I kept on a shelf at the end of my bed. I frantically blew a few notes as loud as I could, and thanked karma that both Sara and mine's family could sleep through anything.

A few merciful moments later I heard her return call and I sent out the most urgent of panic calls. I heard a few quick screeches back and sagged with relief, still shaking as I scooted to the very center of my bed and tucked my head into my knees. I didn't know how having Sara here would help, but it was better than dealing with it fucking alone.

Because I didn't know what it could be. My aunt would've made her presence known the second I started cursing, we didn't have pets, and unless we left our front door open and a stray wandered in…

_But I'm not going to check, because I'm a coward._

There was a quick knocking on my window –three light, one heavy- and I jumped slightly.

"Come in," I said, loud enough for Sara to hear and she came in, the moon lighting up her light brown hair. "Stay off the floor as much as possible," I warned her.

"Why?" she asked, her face covered in genuine concern as she jumped onto the floor and dashed up the ladder onto my bed next to me.

"Something came into my room," I whispered, "My door was shut when I left and when I came back, but it opened a few minutes after I went to bed."

Her face flickered with fear. "Is the front door open?" she pressed lightly.

"I shut it when I came home," I shrugged, "And my aunt isn't the type to leave the door open."

"Right," Sara nodded, blue eyes worried but calculating, "And the door opened on its own?"

"It sounds crazy, I know," I said urgently, "but you have to believe me, it did!"

"I believe you," she said solemnly, "I've had my own fair share of crazy tonight. But before we divulge into interesting stories, let's find out what's going on here."

"Maybe it's the Bogeyman," I muttered, only half sarcastic after meeting Jack Frost, "Hiding under beds."

"He just left, actually," Sara commented cavalierly, leaning slightly over the ladder to peer under the bed, "And I don't think he would use doors. He seems to use shadows instead, so opening your door would be pointless."

"You ran into the Bogeyman?"

"I slapped him, actually," a small grin tugged at her mouth, "He took my sketch book."

I choked as I suppressed my laughter. "You've done worse than slap people for your book," I shook my head, "You –quiet, kind, sweet little you- sent Kenneth Green to the hospital with a broken jaw because he took your book before. _Kenneth Green_," I repeated before pausing at the look of triumph on Sara's face.

"Oh, you're good," I grinned.

"I know," she smirked, "It's really easy to distract you; I just have to put something interesting in front of you."

"Yeah," I shook my head, feeling some of my previous fear sinking back into my mind despite the laughter that had chased it away, "See anything?"

"Not really," she sighed, "We'll have to do a more thorough search."

"Joy," I muttered as Sara climbed down, "Fucking _great_."

"I think we're fine," Sara said slowly peering around the dresser, "I don't see anything."

I hesitantly climbed down and crawled under my giant desk, peering around.

"Nothing," I announced, and stood up so we were facing each other, "Sorry. I guess I called you over here for nothing."

"I don't think it was nothing," Sara said thoughtfully, before shaking her head, "Guess we'll find out. You okay?" She still looked genuinely worried.

_This girl is too nice for her own fucking good._

"Yeah, I think I'll be fine," I nodded.

She offered a reassuring smile and made her way over to the window. "Oh, uh, Sara?" I started meekly.

"Yeah?" she turned to face me, halfway out the window.

"I _may_ have invited Jack Frost to have a snowball fight with us tomorrow," I grinned sheepishly, rubbing the back of my head.

"Jack Frost?" she grinned, tilting her head, "Really, Hecate? _Jack Frost_?"

"Yeah."

"Is that who I've been seeing all week?"

"Probably."

She looked miffed. "Huh. I'll see you and him tomorrow, I guess. Ten o'clock!"

"Yup, I remember," I waved her off, "Goodnight, my good madam."

"Goodnight to you as well," Sara grinned, her voice in a wonderful accent, before she scrambled back up to the roof and easily started jumping across.

I chuckled lightly, feeling much less terrified than I had before. After a quick struggle to fix the lights, the only light in the room was the moonlight streaming in. I went over to close the window, when a small shine caught my eye.

On the edge of my desk was a large, dark brown scale, big enough to cover my eye.

My stomach curled unpleasantly as I gingerly picked it up. It felt like I was running my hand over a small snake.

_This is just one scale… What does the rest of it look like? Why- why is there a giant snake scale in my room?_

I was fairly certain that a snake big enough to have scales this big wouldn't be able to hide in my room, but if that's what had crawled through my door…

My stomach lurched and my legs wobbled. I scrambled up my bed, leaving the scale on the desk, and huddled under my blankets; it felt like the scale was foreshadowing something. Something _big_.

_But what?_

**-Cues dramatic music- Where did the scale come from? Who –or what- put it there? Who will win the snowball fight in the morning? What is Sara's sister like? We'll find out next week on…**

**Who's Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf?****!**

**Uh, actually, it won't be WABBW because my thoughts have just gone somewhere else with this and the title shall be changed to…**

_**Curiosity**_**! TADA :D It has more to do with the characters than the actual plot so, hurrah!**

**-no literally, I lost my entire idea for this story and I was just going to say 'well fuck it' and go hide away on Tumblr for the next 21312 years but then I got another idea-**

**So, that's all this time, thanks. R&R as they are most helpful :)**


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